with his heel and found it to be very thin. The man who hunts and
likes it scorns his ease, and resolves that he will at any rate
persevere. He tumbles into his tub, and a little before nine
comes out to his breakfast, still doubting sorely whether or no
the day "will do." There he, perhaps, meets one or two others
like himself, and learns that the men who hunt and don't like it
are still warm in their beds. On such mornings as these, and
such mornings are very many, the men who hunt and do not like it
certainly have the best of it. The man who hunts and does like it
takes himself out to some kitchen-garden or neighbouring paddock,
and kicks at the ground himself. Certainly there is a crust, a
very manifest crust. Though he puts up in the country, he has to
go sixteen miles to the meet, and has no means of knowing whether
or no the hounds will go out. " Jorrocks always goes if there's a
chance," says one fellow, speaking of the master. " I don't
know," says our friend; " he's a deal slower at it than he used
to be. For my part, I wish Jorrocks would go; he's getting too
old." Then he bolts a mutton chop and a couple of eggs hurriedly,
and submits himself to be carried off in the trap.

Though he is half an hour late at the meet, no hounds have as yet
come, and he begins to curse his luck. A non-hunting day, a day
that turns out to be no day for hunting purposes, begun in this
way, is of all days the most melancholy. What is a man to do with
himself who has put himself into his boots and breeches, and who
then finds himself, by one o'clock, landed back at his starting-
point without employment ? Who under such circumstances can apply
himself to any salutary employment ? Cigars and stable-talk are
all that remain to him; and it is well for him if he can refrain
from the additional excitement of brandy and water.